


A service, a sacrifice

by orphan_account



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Flirting, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Pining, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 20:32:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15494097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A prompted fic, asking me to write about a Deputy torn between her belief in the Project's teachings and her life-long goal of being a Deputy, and the Seeds all being drawn to her as she tries to decide.





	A service, a sacrifice

Rook first met the Seeds at a barbecue three months before she got her badge, and they clung to her like a bur.

Now, to be fair, they were a very tactile people in general, so clinging seemed to be their  _thing_. Rook knew that some of the locals in the county scoffed at this, called them hippies or worse besides, but she had always thought it somehow… sweet, to see so much love and support freely given, to see no one hesitate to lend a hand or open their arms to those who might need it. The world could use more of that, and it seemed the Project agreed.

And Rook loved it. With all her heart she loved it. Her body felt  _pulled_ to them with the same intensity she felt towards her goal of becoming a deputy, and  _that_ was the only thing that worried her. She felt both these things with the same equal, vibrant intensity, and had no way of knowing which choice was better.

Rook had always wanted to work in law enforcement, and she’d been planning for it all her life up until the Project really started to catch her eye. She only had a few months left to decide her future, and that sentence alone left her feeling more frightened  _of_  the future she was planning for, than if she  _didn’t_ have a plan at all.

It was this reason why she took a detour past Rye and Sons Aviation and followed the hand-painted signs all the way down further south, to the Eden’s Gate greenhouse. If she couldn’t make up her mind, then she could at least spend time with them, get to know them—not, perhaps, as a prospective family member, but as someone who would soon be serving and protecting them.

As Rook stepped out of her car and approached the front gate, a small woman with blonde hair and dark roots came up to greet her. Rook took one look at the woman’s round, girlish face and recognized her on sight.  _Rachel._

Rook had only heard stories of Rachel Jessop, and very few of them were kind. Just about the only information she did trust as genuine was that Rachel was a local girl, got in with the Project, and turned so much of her life around that she even took on a different name. Something about that bothered the people of Hope County more than Rook thought was sensible, but she tried to keep her nose out of it. She’d even heard the Sheriff talk about the few times he’d had to haul Rachel—back when she  _was_ Rachel—away from her folks any time a domestic was called in. He always sounded sorry for the girl, and some of that sympathy seemed to have bled over into how Rook saw her, too.

“Hello, sister,” Faith said, her voice quiet, musical.

Rook smiled. “Nice to meet you,” she said, and she held out her hand. Sheriff had always said that Rachel used to be a quiet, empty girl, and the longer Rook looked upon Faith, the longer she wondered if that girl was hidden somewhere inside still. It made her heart ache just to think of it.

Faith took Rook’s hand and, instead of shaking it, led her forward through the gates. “We’re so glad you came,” she said, pulling Rook forward so they could walk arm in arm, like old friends. Her hands were warm and rough, and Rook could smell dirt and something  _clean_ and faint wafting off the shorter woman’s hair.

“I figured it couldn’t hurt to drop by,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, and today just… seemed the right day to do it.”

Faith peered up at her. “What was on your mind this time specifically?” she asked, her expression open, curious.

This unexpected sincerity caught Rook slightly off guard. Sure, the Project was known to be almost overly friendly and loving, but she hadn’t expected to be greeted with it right out of the gate, so to speak. She took a quick look around her once again, noting the smiles—some open, some guarded and uncertain—on the faces of Project members and locals alike. She noted as well the distant sound of laughter, the constant murmur of low conversation, and even a few gentle chords strummed out on an acoustic guitar over by the people clustered around the bonfire.

As if she could sense the unease inside of her companion, Faith pressed herself into Rook’s side and flashed up a wide smile. “You’re among friends and family here,” she said. “You can tell us  _anything_ , whenever you want. We’ll be glad to listen.”

Before Rook could respond, Faith carefully detached herself and all but skipped over to a tall, glum-looking man with red hair and a heavily scarred face. He stared at Rook for a few moments, clearly sizing her up, before he lowered his eyes down to Faith. They spoke briefly—Faith with a few gestures and tilts of her head, and the man with a terse nod—before Rook decided it was safe to step closer.

The man was… imposing. Not threatening—Rook didn’t want to slap a word  _that_  judgmental on the man before she’d even heard him speak—but definitely intimidating and impressive. His impassive, watchful expression only added to this effect, and he didn’t seem to be interested in making anyone else comfortable around him. Rook didn’t let it get to her. She would have to get used to all sorts of scowling, surly faces if she was going to wear the badge. Not every local ne’er-do-well could be as charming and friendly as Sharky Boshaw, after all.

“I’d like you to meet my brother, Jacob,” Faith said, drawing Rook closer so that she stood almost toe to toe with the man.

Rook marveled that Faith could stand in front of a man like this and not feel just a little overwhelmed. She thought again of that quiet, empty girl that the Sheriff had pulled from a broken home one too many times, and wondered about the woman she’d become. Did a man like Jacob scare her at first, or did she take comfort in the protective power of his presence?

“Rook here wants to meet and mingle,” Faith said, gently rearranging Rook so that her shoulders were down, her hands unclasped. “So I figured this would be the best place to start.”

Rook gave a little start to hear Faith use her surname, even before they were properly introduced. Gossip wasn’t unusual in small towns and close-knit counties, sure, but she was a little surprised that the habit had bled over into modern day hippie communes, too.

Jacob shifted his weight, drawing Rook’s gaze back to him. “You’re that rookie from the sheriff’s department, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” she said.

Jacob’s mouth twitched at the address. “What brought you here today?” he asked.

Rook stared up at Jacob, trying to form an answer. His pale gaze was piercing, direct—much like his manner of speech and his questions. He had a surprisingly persuasive voice, easy to listen to, easy to obey.

 _Where’d he learn to speak like that?_ Rook took another look at him—dog tags, camo jacket—and filled in a crucial missing piece of his behavior.  _Soldier. Veteran._ Her heart gave a painful throb as she thought of the recently closed veterans’ center up in the mountains, boarded up due to a lack of federal funding, with bills and needs that not even the most generous local patron could maintain.

“Besides a habit of over-thinking and an empty stomach that can’t say no to a good cook out?” she asked, forcing herself to smile. “Nothin’ really. Nothing worth mentioning.”

Faith grinned. She placed one hand on Rook’s arm and the other on Jacob’s, pushing them closer like they were dolls. “You two talk for a bit,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

They watched as Faith strolled through the crowd, gently parting any who strayed into her path. She disappeared quickly, shortie that she was, and Rook turned back to Jacob with a mixture of confusion and curiosity.

“Walk with me,” he said. It was not a question, but a polite demand that left little room for a discussion on the subject.

Together, Rook and Jacob made slow circles around the outside of the crowd, with her on the inside, and him keeping close to her right. He kept his eyes up, his gaze shifting between the group at large to the others who stood guard toward the edges of the perimeter. Jacob said and did very little, which gave Rook ample time to observe him from the corner of her eyes. Beneath his trimmed beard and painful swathe of scars, he was deep in thought, pensive, focused—and clearly not interested in sharing these thoughts with her.

So why the walk? Why not just ditch her and be done with it?

_Maybe he wanted the company._

“What do you do, Jacob?”

“I look out for my family,” he said.

Rook smiled. “I imagine that’s a full-time job,” she said, gesturing to the crowd.

“It’s a responsibility,” he said simply, “and not one I take lightly.”

Rook cast a critical eye over the shotguns and hunting rifles that more than a few of the guards—and even some of the minglers—carried openly. “Do you keep them armed yourself?” she asked, wondering if they had an armory somewhere.

“I do.”

 _He’s not making this easy._ She nodded to a nearby guard, suppressing a sigh. “You take good care of your guns,” she said. “That’s a Remington 870, isn’t it? I haven’t seen one of those in years.”

“Wingmaster 12 gauge,” he added, his voice a little less gruff. “And before you ask, yes we all have our permits  _and_ the right to carry, so if you—”

Rook stopped walking.

“I’m giving you a compliment,” she said, “not a citation.”

Jacob peered down at her.

She raised her eyebrows again. “Compliment. Praise.”

His mouth twitched again. “I’m familiar with the concept.”

Rook took a breath and tried again. “Most people in the county just wanna collect for an arsenal, but they aren’t always… responsible.” She spoke in what Joey and Staci called her  _traffic cop mom_  voice: precise, kind, controlled. “It’s clear you  _are_ responsible, and I thought you deserved to know that someone sees and appreciates your work.”

Again, Jacob lapsed into a thoughtful silence. After a moment, they started to walk again, side by side.

“You asked me what I did, and I told you I look out for my family,” he said, out of the blue.

Rook nodded, said nothing.

“I don’t just look, I protect. I train. I find those strong enough to keep our family safe, and I  _make_  them strong, fearless—brave.” He paused, and once again Rook got the impression that he was sizing her up. “You called it a job, but it’s more than that. It’s something better, bigger. It’s a kind of sacrifice… a service.”

Rook hung her head and kicked her toes into the dirt. “You really love your family, don’t you?”

“It’s loyalty,” he said, frowning.

 _And how’s that different from love?_ But Rook didn’t think she should push on the subject, not with Jacob scowling like that, so she changed topics. “Y’know, three years ago I would’ve said that you might be a little paranoid,” she said, almost bashful, “but with the way things are…” She trailed off, and looked into the crowd again, not really seeing them.

“Are you worried?” he asked.

“Hell yeah I am,” she said. “Not about you guys, just—y’know. The fate of my home country and whether it has any certain future. Shit, when I put it that way, I’m downright  _terrified_ , but… you gotta get up and do your job no matter what.” She nodded and raised her eyes back to Jacob’s face, and found it felt quite comfortable to look at him. “You have to keep getting back up, even as the world falls down.”

Jacob stepped in front of her and held out one hand to stop her from walking one step further. Rook stared up at his eyes—wide, watchful, and so  _blue_ —and held her breath.

“We can help you,” he said, his voice low, sincere. “You’re a brave woman, Rook. Clever, focused. You’ve got the right idea, but all of your potential is being wasted on distractions and noise.”

Rook raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re wasting your courage serving a country that will not thank you or protect you when you need it.”

Her heart gave another painful throb. Is that how he felt about  _his_ service? She thought again about the closed veterans' center, and a bitter, bloody taste filled her mouth. “You’re talking about me being a deputy,” she said.

“I am.”

“I’m doing that to help the  _county_ , not my country,” she said, frowning. “I’ve lived here all my life. It’s my home.” She stared at him. “Maybe you’ll understand this better than most, soldier,” she said, her voice hushed, private, “but a life without something to protect feels emptier than a life ever should.”

“You could just as easily do that for us,” he said, his voice oddly strained.

Rook grinned. “I didn’t know you guys were out recruiting,” she teased. “I would’ve dressed up all nice if I’d have known you were gonna give me the hard sell.”

Jacob folded his arms and cast a speculative eye across the crowd. “This here’s just a friendly conversation,” he said, his voice gruff again, all soft sincerity gone.

“And I appreciate it, Jacob,” she said, enjoying the sound of his name in her mind and mouth. She reached out and gave his arm a squeeze—good lord, that forearm was tense. His skin was smooth beneath the scars. “Really, I do. And we can keep talking about this later, if… that’s what you want.”

“Had enough for today?” he asked.

Rook shook her head. “I could talk for hours with you, but my stomach says otherwise.”

Jacob’s laugh was a halting sound, but his smile was wide, charming. “Alright, peaches,” he said, still grinning, “Settle in and have a bite—just avoid the potato salad.”

“Why?”

“Because John made it,” he said, winked, and then flattened his hand on her shoulder, nudging her back toward the crowd.

Rook smiled and waved goodbye as she went over to join the nearest cluster of people. She was within sight of the first serving table when Faith reappeared at her side, grinning ear to ear.

“I’ve  _never_ seen Jacob laugh like that before,” she cheered, tugging Rook through the crowd to a little clearing. “He must have taken quite the shine to you.”

Rook would have to take Faith’s word for that, and she tried not to blush at the thought.

"Well you've met one brother, now it's time to meet the next." Faith passed over a plate of food to Rook. “John’s been looking for you,” she said in a singsong.

Rook ate  _around_ the potato salad and made a point not to look at Faith. “You’re just throwing me to the whole family, huh.”

“Of course! You’re special.”

The fork stopped halfway to Rook’s mouth. “How?”

Faith reached up to brush a strand of hair from Rook’s face. She curled her fingers around Rook’s head and smiled. “I see how you look at me," she said, whispering. "I see the heart in your eyes--how heavy it sits in your gaze, looming over your every thought. You don't pity me, Rook. And you don't hate me, either. You _care_ about me. And how could I not want to care about you, too?"

Rook held her breath. She  _wanted_ to believe what she was hearing. She  _wanted_ with her whole heart to really hear and feel what Faith was saying, but there was something else in her mind, some thought that caught like a hook and pulled her.

Special… she could be special. She wouldn’t have to try so hard to matter, she could just...  _be_ , and be loved.

Rook thought about what Jacob had said—that she was brave, loyal. She thought about what he didn’t say, what he was offering without putting into words: that he could protect her, make her strong. Her heart gave another lurch, and she lowered her fork back to her plate, hungry in a way no food could cure.

“Have faith in the Father,” Faith whispered. “In the Project. In his love.” She took the plate from Rook’s hand and turned her around with the other. “But aww, oh no. You look so  _sad_! John will cheer you up. He’s good for that.”

It wasn’t long before Rook found herself stepping into the open arms of a bright eyed, charming man with a grin that stretched ear to ear.

“So you’re the Sheriff’s new protégé,” he said, clapping his hands to her shoulders. “I hear he’s awfully proud of you.”

“He is?” she asked, frowning.

John curled his arm around her shoulders and walked at her side, his smile still locked in place. “The county is lucky to have you,” he said, “someone who is willing to lead, to serve, to protect. As if we’re all  _family,_ and worth fighting for.”

“Do you always slap on the evangelist charm or do you give it a rest at home?” she asked.

John laughed. It was a warm sound. “Well, my dear, you would need to  _see_  me at home to know for sure,” he fired back, though he withdrew his arm from her shoulder. He stayed close to her side, as if he either wanted the contact or was trying to shepherd her around, like Jacob had before.

They strolled through the crowd and made it to the clearing around the bonfire. A small circle of people sat at a safe distance from the flames, feeding it with small bundles of twigs and white flowers. A fine green, hazy mist spiraled up from the flames, drawing Rook’s eyes once more to the sparkles and fluttering, glittering white.

“People are scared, angry—and you can help them. But I wonder if there’s anyone who can help you,” John continued, his tone thoughtful.

“I can help myself.”

“We’re social creatures,” he argued gently. “We’re not entirely self-sufficient—there’s no shame in needing or wanting help and company.” He paused. “Why else are you here today?”

“For the food?”

He laughed. “Then why did you  _stay_?"

Rook said nothing. Not because there was nothing to say, but because she wasn’t sure how to put what churned in her heart into words.

John stooped down, grabbed a handful of flowers from a basket near his feet, and gently fed a few of the petals into the blaze. Rook watched the smoke pale to a milky white.

John handed her a flower and watched as she flicked it into the fire. “There’s something in you that calls out,” he said at last, his voice low. “It cries in you, and I will gladly lend you my time if you need it.”

She eyed him askance. “Here or at home?”

John’s eyes glittered bright. He searched her face carefully, as if to remember it for later. He said nothing and kept her waiting long enough for her to get a little impatient.

“You should speak to the Father,” he said at last. “Listen to him. Confide in him. Then we’ll see what I can do for you.”

Rook watched as John stepped away, his eyes locked onto her face. She wondered how he liked it here, wondered what had brought him to the Project. Was he after love and protection, like Faith? Did he stick around because it was a responsibility, a sacrifice to his family? Or did he  _need_ something, did he cry out for it, crave it, and only the Father could provide?

As her thoughts swirled in her head, Rook’s eyes fell once more to the flames. It was… beautiful, peaceful. She took a breath in and shut her eyes. Her thoughts were no longer scattered in her head; all her doubts, all her fears, vanished like the morning fog, leaving her mind true and clear.

The Project was here. The Project could offer her solace, shelter. All she had to do was stay, have faith—all she had to do was be loyal, true…

But true to who? Herself, or these people—strangers, up until a few minutes ago?

Rook opened her eyes. She strode towards the edge of the crowd, needing some space to herself. The further she walked from the flames, the more her head grew fuzzy, her thoughts darkened by new shadows.

She walked quickly back over to her car and leaned against the door. She fumbled in her pocket for her keys and tried more than once to unlock it. She was halfway home before she realized there were tears in her eyes, and by the time she pulled up at the curb outside her house, the tears overflowed entirely, wrenching themselves out of her heart in loud, heavy sobs.

 

Rook received an invitation to the Father’s sermons a week after the barbecue on a crisp white card lined with gold. A small white flower was pressed inside, and just the sight of it both lifted her spirits and made her heart sink.

She tried to make as many sermons as she could. Her schedule didn’t always allow her to show up as often as she’d like; her internship was winding down, and the department would soon need to give their final evaluation before she got her badge. What services Rook did manage to attend were enlightening, freeing. She couldn’t remember what was said word for word, but it was similar to what the Seeds had told her at the barbecue—people who were lost, lonely had a home here; people who didn’t think they had value or meaning were always loved, always special; people had a purpose and a place in the world, if only they could trust and love, rely on their own courage to be compassionate. The more she heard, the more she liked what she heard—and the harder it was to stay away.

Soon the invitations came with not just a flower, but a handwritten note, brief and a little sloppily written, but with pearls of wisdom that kept Rook up at night.  _Every step you make in fear is another step closer to darkness. The thirst within you can only be soothed with love. Come back to us and come stay for good._

Rook liked to imagine that these notes came from the Father himself. He kept an eye on her throughout the sermons she did manage to attend, and sometimes he would pause in front of her long enough for her heart to skip a beat, long enough for her to wonder if here, now, finally, he would speak to her; long enough for that wonder to turn into wishing—

But he never did, and soon Rook’s wishes turned into wanting, waiting—but still nothing.

 

And then her internship ended.

And Rook took the oath, got her badge, made her first salute as junior deputy, and tried not to burst into tears.

 

As the weeks passed, Rook came across the Project more and more. She was called in for noise complaints mostly, but there were occasional flare ups of more troubling behavior: intimidation, threats of violence, verbal harassment—even, bizarrely, grand theft auto. Well, grand theft  _tractor_. It became a pattern, what Staci and Joey endearingly called  _Peggie duty_. Every time trouble with the Project reared its head, Rook found herself called in to make it right.

Which is why when the Marshal showed up at the station one night, demanding all hands on deck, she didn’t even bat an eye. She didn’t sigh or even glare when Staci and Joey mused out loud that they were finally going to get a taste of how it felt to be the Peggie's deputy. It wasn’t that she wasn’t angry or even a little annoyed by it—she was just distracted with something else.

The Marshal was going in to arrest Joseph—the Father. Maybe here, now, finally, he would have something to say to her.

 

Rook got her wish, just not the way she wanted.

“Sometimes it’s best to leave well enough alone,” Joseph said, his voice warm, pleading. He held his hands out in front of him, cupped as if to offer or receive.

Rook took a breath and watched the way Joseph’s fingertips trembled. Did he feel the same thrill she did as she gazed into his eyes? Did his heart beat just like hers, steady and strong, but fast, determined?

She stepped forward.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” the Father whispered. “It’s not too late to walk the path.”

Rook watched a ripple of pain flicker across his face. “I still have faith,” she said, her voice low. “But I also have a job to do.”

“And what of your heart?” he asked. “Your spirit—your  _soul_? What of the life that thrives beneath your bones, and cries out for something more?”

Rook chewed on her lip to keep the tears from falling. She fit the cuffs first around Joseph’s left wrist, then turned him by the shoulder. She tried to ignore the sound of his siblings—Jacob, Faith, and John—all crying out in protest, hoping that they would not hate her, even if they couldn’t forgive her.

“She’ll just have to wait,” Rook said, her voice and heart cracking. “That is my sacrifice.”

She chanced a glance at Joseph’s eyes before she turned to lead him away. His pale blue gaze was glimmering with tears.

Every step Rook took out of that church felt like one step further from salvation. She barely heard the jeers and snarls from the cultists around her--barely heard her partners urging her to walk faster, stay close. Hell, she barely heard the clamor and screams as the cultists swarmed the chopper, trying to drag Joseph out of it even after they'd left the ground. It all seemed to be happening from a terrifying distance, one that Rook could not quite bring herself to either care about or reach out to, even as pain and fear flooded her body.

So when the chopper crashed, and her partners screamed, and only Joseph stayed calm, quietly singing Amazing Grace, Rook felt a dazed, detached kind of amusement at the whole thing. She tried to keep her eyes open, though the rush of blood to her head and the pounding, merciless ache in her chest made it hard to even breathe.

And then Joseph's face crept into view, his gaze intense, focused. He reached out to wipe away a trickle of blood from Rook's face, and smeared it across his fingertips.

"No one else can save you but me," he said, his words hard, his gaze flinty. "God brought you to me, and nothing..." he leaned in, tilting his head so that his mouth was almost aligned with hers, " _nothing_  will take you away. Not ever again."

“Yes, Father,” she whispered, and she gave a little cry of relief as he flattened his hand over her left breast, curled his fingers around the badge, and tore it free.

 "I am your Father," he said, wiping his bloody fingers across the badge. "And you are my child--mine. No one else's."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feel free to drop me a line on Tumblr @ sisterfriedes.


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